


Imperium

by TriarchMaegyr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackfyre Empire, Canon-Typical Violence, Cersei thinks she's clever, F/F, F/M, Gen, In Essos, Joffery is an idiot, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Multi, Tyrion gets drunk, Tywin despairs, Viserys is a half decent brother, Viserys isn't mad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriarchMaegyr/pseuds/TriarchMaegyr
Summary: In the myriad of lives that could have been lived, Daemon Blackfyre did not rebel. He conquered. The Black Dragon did not stay west, he went east..





	1. History of an Alternate World

**This is entirely based on an idea I had (whilst playing it in Crusader Kings 2), and I wanted to see how it could work in fanfiction form. If it's well received, I'll probably (hopefully) continue it.**

* * *

Daemon Blackfyre, the King that Bore the Sword. He who plunged Westeros into the bloody series of rebellions that bore his name. All to claim a throne he believed was rightfully his. He died. His sons died. And their sons.

Then his entire house died. Supposedly.

But, in the myriad of lives that could have been lived, Daemon Blackfyre did not rebel. He conquered.

It was 192 AC, and Daemon, growing restless in the small lands granted to him by his brother, Daeron the Good, called all those that desired a new life to join him on a 'Grand Expedition' to the ruins of the Rhoyne, in the hopes that they might form a new Free City or the like. He was joined by far more than he expected, numbering in the thousands, and, despite the genuine pleas of his Kingly sibling, set off in one hundred ships to find a new life. The fleet sailed up the Rhoyne, past Sarhoy and Chroyanne, Sar Mell and Ar Noy. Eventually, bedraggled and seasick, they reached the ruined city of Ny Sar.

It would one day become known as Daemonholt, the Blackfyre's new capital.

Using the very boats they travelled in, Daemon's loyalists built makeshift huts, and eventually, a small settlement. In those early days, they used the stone from the ruins to built their other buildings. Still, his people were starving, and in need of a stable supply of food and water.

It was Aegor Rivers, known as Bittersteel, that came up with a solution. His 'Golden Company', with Gerold Redtusk and Quentyn Fireball acting as his captains soon became a famed sellsword company. The funds and supplies were enough for the fledgling settlement to survive unharmed.

Until, that was, Qohor attacked in 196 AC. The First Blackfyre Conquest, as it would become known saw the sons of Westeros attack, sack and conquer the Free City, although the City's Unsullied guards made Daemon's forces bleed for every inch. The Temple of the Black Goat was pulled down, and the city's slaves were freed. The Qohorik builders were moved to Ny Sar, where they assisted with the reconstruction of the city.

In 211 AC, now known as Daemon the Liberator, he, using his friend Garth the Grey (Founder of House Greystone) sparked a slave rebellion in Norvos. Robb Reyne and Bryen Flowers led the assault, over the course of eight months, a second Free City fell under the banner of the Black dragon. As with Qohor before it, it's builders were sent to Ny Sar, now openly known as the Daemonholt, to assist with the rebuilding, and expansion of the city. Thus ended The Second Blackfyre Conquest.

It would only eight years later in 219 AC where Myr and Pentos joined forces to attack the Blackfyre's kingdom. With the backing of Prince Maekar and Brynden Bloodraven, the armies of Westeros came to the Blackfyre's aid, and two more city-states were liberated, and added to the Kingdom. Bittersteel, who had coverted his half-sister Shiera Seastar as a young man, finally made his peace with Bloodraven. The conflict would be come to known as the Third Blackfyre Conquest. Aemon Blackfyre, one of the twin princes, is killed in the fighting.

It would be in 225 AC, at the behest of his Wife's family, that Daemon the Liberator embarked on what you be his last conflict. He led an attack to liberate Tyrosh, and installed the Zokan family as it's ruling family. At the age of five and fifty, Daemon Blackfyre, the Black Dragon, the Liberator, was declared Emperor of the Essosi Imperium.

In 235 AC, at the age of five-and-sixty, the first Emperor died of old age. His son, Aegon Blackfyre, then one-and-fifty, took the crown. His brother, now known as Haegon the Holy, had spent most of his life studying the old faith of Valyria, and had worked to revive the ancient religion. Whilst the faith of Rh'llor was popular, Haegon was more snake than dragon, and incorporated Rh'llor into his Reborn Valyrian faith as first servant and voice of the gods, although a large number of Rh'llor Loyalists call it heresy.

The years between 235 AC to 259 AC were on the whole, peaceful. Aegon divided the Empire up into the city states that made it up, and gave them to his family's allies. He died in 244 AC, and his daughter, Viserra (wed to her Uncle Daemon) took the throne. She was still reigning in 260 AC, when, a Blackfyre bastard, Maelys the Monstrous, led an army of mercenaries and pirates against the Iron Throne. The War of Ninepenny Kings as it was called once again allied the Imperium with the Iron Throne. The Band of Nine managed to take and hold Lys, and Viserra, known as The Bold Dragon took the opportunity provided to conquer the city and add it to her Empire, though it would cost her her three sons. The (re)construction of Ny Sar, at this point now known as Daemonholt, was completed in 272 AC.

Her last child and sole daughter, Visenya would succeed her in 274 AC. The relationship between the Imperium and the Iron Throne soured during the reign of Aerys II, with the mad monarch decrying the offer of a marriage between a Blackfyre bride and Prince Rhaegar due to the princess 'smelling foreign' and 'being a false dragon'.

Then Robert Baratheon rebelled. Prince Rhaegar died, and his father and children soon followed.

Now, in 283 AC, an elder brother hurries across an Empire, carrying with him the last precious gift his mother gave him, seeking the protection of his Blackfyre cousins. For even at his young age, Viserys Targaryen knew the truth.

For regardless of the world in which you play…

When you play the Game of Thrones, you either win, or you die.

* * *

 

**So, tell me what you think. Would a story in this world be something you folks would enjoy? If so let me know.**


	2. 283 A.C PART 1

**Alrighty! Since the response to the 'History' chapter was actually better than I hoped, here's the continuation. The prologue arc will take place in the few months after Robert's Rebellion, before skipping up to around the start of the books. Also, most characters will be aged up a year or two to avoid the 'only children can save the world' trope.**

* * *

_**283 AC, Daemonholt** _

Willem Darry, loyal though he was, had made his disapproval of Viserys' choice to go, not to Braavos as he had suggested, but to head to the capital of the Imperium, known to both of the Targaryen children, even if, at her tender young age of ten months, Daenerys didn't understand why. He neglected to tell them that The Spider had arranged a safe house in the city, along with a dozen loyal servants, so as to try and tempt the Sealord into supporting his claim, avoiding the Blackfyre's, on the off chance they tried to push their own claim to the throne.

In Viserys' mind however, it made perfect sense. The Blackfyre's were kin to the Targaryen's. Unlike the Baratheon's however, they had gone on to create an empire of their own, through conquests of their own. They didn't  _need_ Westeros. They'd need to change the name of their Empire if they did, after all!

The young boy looked around the streets of this..strange city. It was hard for him to pick out a common appearance amongst the people that were milling about. Whilst the Empire had unified the peoples of Essos, they still maintained their own vague individualities. The Tyroshi still dyed their hair all manner of fantastic colours, the Norvoshi still maintained frankly magnificent beards that rivalled the oiled beards of the Pentoshi. The Lysene were almost all beautiful. He wasn't  _entirely_ sure what he thought of the Qohorik people, though. There were some people that appeared Westerosi, that Viserys assumed were the descendants of those that followed Daemon the Liberator across the Narrow Sea. For a scant few moments, the Targaryen boy allowed himself to forget the terror he felt as he was made to flee the only home he had ever known.

His thoughts turned to the mess of memories he had of their short days on Dragonstone. The storm, and his sister's birth. The few servants that stayed loyal hurrying him and his sister onto a ship that had ferried them across the Narrow Sea to the safe harbor of Myr, now ruled by House Ball of Myr (descended from Quentyn Fireball). What surprised the small group, however, was that a luxurious wheelhouse had been prepared for them by a small number of loyalists, to take them to Daemonholt, with enough supplies to last the journey. Monterys Ball, the High Lord of Myr had granted them a small delegation of guards to protect them on the journey. The overweight man had had a cheerful, booming laugh, and had treated Viserys with a degree of respect he'd had in his homeland.

The journey to the capital had been long, but thankfully uneventful. Viserys had asked the guards near endless questions about the Imperium. The Myrmen had answered them with the good graces of a family friend. Daenerys had been attended by a Myrish wetnurse, a point that Willem Darry had been eternally grateful for. He had always been good with children, not babes.

It was only after two weeks of hard travel that the Imperial capital came into view. The Rhoyne river shone like sapphire, with various fishing and trading vessels making their ways on the calm waters. The city itself appeared to be made with golden sandstone and marble, with colourful blankets providing shade for those in the streets. The Palace of Nymeria, once ruined, was now back in full splendor (although the green and pink marble and been replaced by red and black), with the domes capped by golden statues of the various New Valyrian pantheon and spires that seemed to claw at the sky itself, taller than the towers of the Red Keep by a considerable margin.

It was only as the wheelhouse clattered into the Palace courtyard that a sickening spike of doubt coursed through the young Targaryen. Could he have been wrong? Everything had been planned too well...it had to be a trap!

 _Remember their words, Viserys._ His mother's words calmed him.  _Remember.._

"... _No Finer Friend, No Fiercer Foe_." He mumbled to himself as he held Daenerys close. They were more akin to a declaration than House words, but they had served his Blackfyre cousins well enough. The Imperium was often referred to as 'the most powerful nation in the world', after all. Their words said everything they needed to. Generous and good to their friends, merciless and unforgiving to foes.

"Did you say something, My Prince?" Darry inquired. Viserys had almost forgotten he was there.

"...N-No...it's nothing Ser Willem." The young Prince said as he held his sister a little tighter as he looked around. There were guards at regular intervals, but despite this, Viserys could honestly say that he felt  _safe._

* * *

Then he saw her.

Visenya Blackfyre, Empress of the Essosi Imperium. Her gown appeared to be made of fire itself, flowing waves of red and orange seamlessly melding into one, with her half cloak, black as night, was held in place by two silver clasps, bearing her family's sigil. Her amethyst eyes never left Viserys' as she strode into the courtyard, her braided, silvery hair gently bouncing with every step. He bodyguard, a giant of a man with faintly tanned skin, chin length, greying brown hair, and violet eyes, no dissimilar to Viserys' own managed to keep himself just a step behind.

Even Viserys had heard of this man, this Baelor Bittersteel. It was said that he had once led the Golden Company against a great Khal of the Dothraki, Khal Bharbo. By the end of the battle, barely a hundred Dothraki were left alive. Bharbo's son, Drogo, wisely lead his people in a retreat, but not before cutting off his braid, and throwing at the feet of the great warrior. The story had thrilled the young Targaryen when he was younger, being one of his enduring memories of his brother Rhaegar, who told him the tale whenever the younger Prince had asked.

"Heh. Looks like they made it." Baelor commented in a rumbling tone, although the Prince could see that he was smiling. Visenya walked over to Viserys, until she was towering over him (despite being shorter than both Darry and Bittersteel, Viserys assumed it had something to do with her authority).

Then this woman, rumoured to be the most powerful person in the world, with legions of loyal soldiers and servants, who ruled over millions of citizens and had the power to crush entire nations, knelt down and cupped his cheek. She smiled, ever so slightly, the seriousness of her expression not quite fading.

"Sweet child." She addressed him kindly, her accent exotic to Viserys' ears. "Breathe easy, you are safe now."


	3. 283 A.C PART 2

The halls within the The Palace of Nymeria were comfortably warm, at least in Viserys' mind. Great tapestries depicting Imperium victories lined the wall, ranging from Daemon the Liberator's victories, to more recent times, in the form of Viserra the Bold's conquest of Lys during the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

Viserys was given a good view of the palace from atop Baelor Bittersteel's shoulders. Despite the Prince being eight years old, the warrior didn't seem bothered by carrying him. Daenerys was being carried by the Empress, and had occupied herself by playing with the woman's braid. Willem Darry remained barely three steps behind his charges, vague annoyance plain to see on his face. It was obvious, even to the guards that the man was uneasy being in the halls of the Palace.

The walk through the Palace was surprisingly long, but this didn't surprise Willem Darry. The Palace of Nymeria had to be at least five times bigger than the Red Keep. The Targaryen loyalist never let his hand leave the hilt of his blade. This, predictably, made the royal guards on edge. It wouldn't be the first time that someone tried to attack an Imperial ruler in their own halls, that was after all, how the first husband of Viserra the Bold, Daemon, had died. The man had lived a surprisingly sad life. Denied the throne after his brother, Emperor Aegon's death, he had been plagued by dragon dreams for most of his life. His assassination at the hands of Volantene agents had instilled a deep distrust of Valyria's first daughter in the Imperium's citizens. In fact, it had only been the council that had calmed the Bold Dragon down, so that she did not lead her people into a war with Volantis.

The Prince roded on Baelor's shoulders right up until the small group arrived in the Empress' personal solar. It was a sunlight room in the tower of the Palace in which the Royals actually lived. After being placed back on the ground, Viserys soon took back his sister, and settled into one of the chairs. Willem placed a calming hand on the boy's shoulder, and turned his gaze to the Empress.

"I thank you for your kindness, Empress Visenya." The Riverman said. "I doubt we will need to seek sanctuary under your roof for long."

Viserys turned to look at his loyal guardian, a look of childish annoyance on his young face. "Ser Willem, we are not going to Braavos. We are safe here."

"That part is true, Ser Willem Darry." Visenya admitted. "The Prince and Princess will not be at risk in these halls."

"Begging you pardon, Empress. But we have a group of loyalists waiting at Braavos. Men ready to rally and place the rightful King back on the Iron Throne."

When Visenya snorted a laugh, the Darry man scowled. "That amuses you, Empress?"

"The nation of Westeros has just been torn apart by a war. The only Kingdom that would rise for you is Dorne. The lords of the Claw are a possibility, but they will likely be watched closely. So tell me, Ser Willem, which men do you refer to? Not the common people I trust?"

"Why not? They know that Viserys and the Targaryen's would be better for Westeros than the Usurper."

Visenya's amethyst eyes fell on the young Prince. "I mean no offence, but how is an eight year old boy what is best for Westeros right now?"

Willem had no answer, and moved to take Daenerys from her brother, and when Viserys refused to hand her over, a saddened look, almost of betrayal, crossed the elder knight's face. Without another word, he departed the Solar. The Targaryen Prince turned to look at his host, his eyes wide, and a little fearful.

The Blackfyre woman noticed this, and soon drew the brother and sister into an embrace. "I meant what I said. You are not at risk here. Should you wish it, I will raise you alongside mine own children. You won't need to struggle for life on the streets, nor sell your mother's crown for bread. You and your sister will be safe here, Viserys Targaryen."

As if showing her approval, and trust, Daenerys giggled, and pawed at the Empress' braid again. This time, when someone offered to take his sister, the Targaryen relented. Once she had left his arms, his gaze turned to the floor. The Empress sighed softly, gently rocking the babe in her arms. She glanced out of the window, overlooking her vast city. Daemonholt was rumored to be a little larger than Qarth. Only Asshai was categorically known to be larger than it. Just under two million people lived in the streets below her now, and almost all of them lived their lives in peace, for better or for worse.

"...Would you help me?"

The Princes words caused Visenya to break from her thoughts and face the young Prince again. "...With what, may I ask?"

"Justice….f-for little Rhaenys and Aegon….a-and sister Elia."

The boy's words caused the Empress to raise a brow, and gained her attention. "Not for your mother and father? Not Rhaegar?"

The Prince shook his head. "...Mother died peacefully. And f-father….hurt her."

It was Baelor that placed a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. "We understand Lad. Take a deep breath. It'll be alright."

"...Nyssie called me Uncle a lot...I l-liked that.."

And there, in a room far from home, Viserys Targaryen broke down, and cried. The eight year old wept loudly as he let himself remember, and feel safe. Visenya passed Daenerys over to Baelor, and embraced the young boy once more.

"Blessed Vhagar, you've been so strong, child." She murmured, allowing Viserys to cry into her shoulder. "It's alright. You are safe. Remember that. You are safe."

* * *

It took ten minutes for Viserys to let go of the Empress, who was soon led away by Baelor. He was leading them to the kitchens for some much needed food. Visenya Blackfyre sighed, and settled into a chair at her desk. She sat in silence for nearly ten minutes, before calling for a guard. She calmly gave him instructions, before returning to her seat.

Soon, a man entered the chambers.

Qoherys was the bastard brother of Visenya's father (and her mother's second husband). His hair was a dark brown, and his eyes were a muddy shade of green. He walked into the Empress' solar, and took a formal bow in greeting, his red priestly robes flowing like wine. "My Empress, you summoned me?"

"Uncle Qoherys." Visenya greeted the elder man with a nod, rising from her seat to face him directly. "...I have a job for you. It will take years to complete, so I understand if you do not wish to take it on."

Qoherys shook his head with a kind smile. "If you need my aid, My Empress, I as a humble servant must prove aid."

"Very well." Visenya Blackfyre smiled. "...You're going to Westeros."

 

* * *

  
**Up next should hopefully be Viserys meeting Visenya's children and consort, and a possible visit to Westeros, if it fits in**


	4. 283 A.C PART 3

_**283 A.C,** _ _**Nymeria's Palace** _ _**Daemonholt** _

The man that sat at a desk of Qohorik wood in a small study just off of the Empress' bedchamber was surprisingly willowy in build. His hair, whilst naturally the typical silver of the Essosi, had been dyed purple. As Prince-Consort of the Essosi Imperium, Tycho Zokan held a great deal of power. Even before, as the thirdborn son of the High Lord of Tyrosh, he had been known as a shrewd merchant. It had been over a decade (twelve and a half years) since he married Empress Visenya, who he had courted prior to her ascension to the Throne. He had given up his family name in order to become Imperial Consort, and took up the post of Lord Treasurer, effectively Master of Coin.

The match between he and his wife had been arranged by Viserra the Bold, and whilst they did not love one another, they were the closest of friends. Over the years, they had had three children together, two daughters and a son, Helaena, Calla and Aemon.

Currently, the Imperial Consort was deep in working out matters of trade, his mind filled with numbers and images of cobbled roads. He didn't even look up at the sound of a quiet, attention seeking cough behind him.

"...Tycho."

The Tyroshi's attention turned slowly to the owner of the voice. A small smile formed on his face. He moved to rise from his seat. "My Empress. Forgive me, the matters of state rarely wait, even for their Ruler."

Visenya let out a soft chuckle. "I understand, Husband. However, matters of state will make an exception today. I have someone I wish to introduce."

At this prompting, a short figure that, Tycho assumed, had been hiding behind his wife shuffled into view. He was wearing a well fitting doublet, in the reversed Blackfyre colours, and kept a hesitant look on his face. Silvery hair, clearly recently cleaned had been kept at shoulder length.

"Viserys." The Empress smiled warmly. "This is my consort, Tycho of Tyrosh. Tycho, this is Viserys Targaryen"

Taking a flamboyant bow, Tycho smirked as he gained a smile from the boy. "Good to meet you, young Prince."

The young Targaryen muffled a giggle behind a hand. "..G-Good to meet you, Your Grace. Y-You'll no doubt meet my sister later. L-Lord Bittersteel has taken her to be fed. Hopefully that will keep things quiet for a while."

The Empress almost smirked in amusement, before clearing her throat and addressing her husband. "Where are the children? I figure they will want to meet this red dragon, hm?"

Tycho shot her a grin. "I believe you are right, my Empress. Come along Little Dragon. I think it's time you were around people your own age for a bit, yes?"

Smiling cheerfully, he offered the young Prince a hand. Hesitating only for a moment, Viserys took his hand, and strolled beside Tycho through the halls of Nymeria's Palace, with the Empress keeping pace a few steps behind them. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, and for a few moments, peace reigned in the trio's lives, before Viserys broke the silence with a question.

"Do you have a Sept here?" He asked, causing both adults to come to a halt. Tycho forced back a chuckle whilst Visenya let out a sigh.

"Ah, Viserys. We don't worship The Seven here." Visenya told him apologetically.

"...Th-Then who do you worship, Empress Visenya?" The young boy asked.

"The New Valyrian Pantheon.  _Se Izula Ampā._ "The Empress dipped into High Valyrian. "The Fourteen, as put down by Haegon the Holy."

The young boy opened his mouth to speak again, but let out a sigh instead. "...I see."

"There are Septon's and Septa's in Myr. We can bring a small number over should you desire." The Empress offered. "We have no wish to forcibly change your faith."

"..I'd appreciate it."

Visenya nodded as they arrived at the great doors to the Palace Library. "I shall see to it. It may take some time for them to arrive, understand."

The young boy smiled. "That's alright. I can wait. Dany is a bit too young to need a Septa..and your tutor's will no doubt be more than appropriate."

Tycho let out a bark of almost musical laughter as he pushed open the doors. "How diplomatic of you Little Dragon."

Striding onwards, Viserys was struck by the vastness of the room he now stood in. The smell of old parchment hung in the air, which was punctured by the quiet sounds of someone reading.

" _rōvēgrie Vhagar sōvegon toliot se dōron lenton, Caraxes ilagon isse se nāvar. Ānogar lēdan se iēdar. Daemon egros ezīmagon Aemond's laes."_ Viserys could just about make out that the voice was reading about the Dance of the Dragon's. Viserys bristled in mild anger at the story. Their ancestors had 'danced away' their power. Their dragons. How vast could this Imperium of the Blackfyre's be if they had had dragons? Could they have conquered the world again? Viserys doubted it mattered anymore.

"Helaena! Aemon! Calla!" Visenya called out. "Come and meet our guest."

The voice stopped, and Viserys watched as a pair of children, a year or so younger than he himself was, silver in hair and violet eyed, dashed over and into their mother's arms. The third child, the eldest, followed at a more dignified pace. She was the eldest child of Tycho and Visenya, at twelve, she was four years Viserys' senior. Whilst the hair that tumbled down her back was silver, there was a streak of dyed purple on the right side of her head. As her siblings stepped away from their mother, she took an almost defensive step in front them and peered at the young Targaryen with a curious, if cautious, eye.

"...Prince Viserys." She greeted after a time. "It appears Terrax has brought you to our shores. Be welcome."

Viserys looked up at Tycho, as if expecting an explanation.

"..Terrax is the Patron God and Protector of Travellers and Refugees, Prince Viserys." Was the response the Tyroshi gave. "Named for Jaenara Belaerys' dragon. She flew down to Sothoryos during the days of the Freehold."

"We do have an account of her journey, if you wish to hear it." Helaena offered quietly. "It is an interesting tale."

"A wonderful idea!" Visenya prompted, patting the young Prince on the shoulder. "That one is one of my favourites, I am certain you will enjoy it."

Without waiting for his reply, both Visenya and her Husband departed. Keeping a calm expression on her face, Helaena started to walk away, intent on finding the book to read to her siblings and Viserys. Little did the Targaryen know that, despite her caution, the girl that would soon be reading to him and her siblings would one day be his Queen. " _Lā rōva tegun. Mijegon mōris. Iā kasta embar hen guēse se ojūdan oktion hen zōbrie dōron._ "

* * *

 

As they walked by to their chambers, Empess and Consort quietly conversed on matters.. _less_ than pleasant.

"Qoherys has left then?" Tycho asked. "For Westeros?"

"Indeed. He'll avenge Aegon and Rhaenys, just as our young friend wants." Visenya answered. "He's aware that it might take a long while, possibly decades. He's on the Path of Meleys."

"Aaah. I see." Tycho chuckled. "Then may Meraxes be kind, for I doubt the manner of Qoherys' targets deaths shall be pleasant."

"Piss on that." Visenya spat. "Child murderers do not deserve Meraxes' kindness. May their suffering in this life be merely a prelude to the suffering Meraxes shall inflict upon them."

"..Hah! I shall drink to that Senya."

* * *

 

**Up next will be a visit to Westeros, probably Robert's response to the Targaryen's making it to Daemonholt. If you have any ideas or questions, feel free to PM me.**


	5. 283 A.C PART 4

Varys smiled contentedly as he walked through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. Whilst his plans for Aerys' last children had fallen through, what with their failing to be moved to Braavos, he was at least pleased that they lived. He had privately mourned the death of Rhaella, and had moved to swear his loyalty to Robert Baratheon, Gods save him.

As he walked, he allowed his mind to drift back to those warm summer days in Lys, listening to the sermons of the Priest's, telling him to thank Mighty Vermithor for the Imperium's victories and glories. He scoffed to himself. It wasn't the Patron God of the Essosi Imperium that had granted them their power, but men, blood and steel. He almost wished to return 'home', but after he was cut in Volantis, he had directed his attention to other matters. Mainly, getting Westeros under control.

Privately, he had his reservations about the new King. Marrying Cersei Lannister had been a politically intelligent move, but the influence Robert allowed the lions to have was not. Making the Arryn Hand was another good move on Robert's part too.

He glided into the Small Council chamber, and was greeted by both the King and his Hand. Bowing in greeting, the Spider took his seat. Pycelle was already there, as was Jon Arryn. Old Horas Stokeworth, Master of Coin, hobbled in soon after, his loyal manservant Walder assisting him. Stannis was absent, Maester Cressen having sent Robert a letter explaining that his brother needed time to rest and heal after the Siege of Storm's End  _and_ chasing after the Targaryens. Lord Arryn had actually laughed at the look on Robert's face when he had read it. It seemed that the elderly Maester of Storm's End could still instill youthful loyalty and obedience in the King. Barristan Selmy was also absent. Whilst Robert had forgiven him for fighting for the Mad King, he did not yet fully  _trust_ the man. The position of Master of Laws was yet empty, so the Goldcloaks Commander, a lowborn man named Theomore, sat instead. He was a decent man, Robert thought, if a little thick in the head.

"Well?" Robert Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar (although the Essosi Rhoynar disputed that claim) and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm snapped. "Where are they? The Dragonspawn?"

Varys cleared his throat. "My Little Birds tell me that they had arrived in Daemonholt, Your Grace. Ser Willem Darry appears to had escorted them to the Imperium's capital himself. They tell me that Empress Visenya greeted them in person."

"Vile traitor." Pycelle piped up. "Darry shall be damned to the deepest Hell for this treason!"

"QUIET!" Robert barked before rounding on Varys. Breathing heavily, the Stag King spoke slowly, as if trying to keep his voice calm with every word that left his mouth. "Are they  _certain_?"

"Your Grace?"

"Are they  _certain_ that the brats are there?" Privately, Varys was almost glad that this... _Stag King_ was not demanding that they march on the Blackfyre's immediately. At least he had more sense than his predecessor.

"I am afraid that they are certain, your Grace." Varys sighed. "It would seem that Lord Stannis' failure has allowed the both of them to get out of our reach."

"Damn that brother of mine." Robert growled, and grabbed his wine goblet, and drained it dry. The implications of Varys' declaration remained heavy in the air. "..Gah…..I give him a simple task, and he fucks it up royally."

"What would you have us do now, Your Grace?" Jon Arryn asked, his quiet voice still carrying the authority of the Hand of the King. "If the Targaryen's are under the protection of the Blackfyre's.."

"It'd be suicide to try and get them back. Aye, I'm aware Jon." Robert sighed. It also meant assassination was off the table. The Blackfyre's owned their house words, ' _No Finer Friend, No Fiercer Foe'_. Murdering the last Targaryen's would almost certainly rouse the Bold Dragon's daughter to action. "...I suppose we ought to secure the Kingdom then. If we cannot kill the brats, might as well make sure they'll find no warm welcome here."

"A wise move, Your Grace. Mayhaps we should start with Dorne? The deaths of Prince Lewyn and Princess Ellia and her children…"

"Are squarely on my shoulders now.." Robert scowled. He himself had been indifferent that it had come to the deaths of children to secure his crown. Personally, he had planned (with Jon and Ned) to send Aegon to the Citadel and give Rhaenys to the faith, thus washing his hands of them with the added bonus of being known as a merciful ruler. But Tywin had put an end to hopes of being known as Robert the Merciful. He had had to force a smile when the Old Lion had presented the bodies of the Royal Children (and their mother) to him as 'proof of loyalty'. "...Call for Lord Tywin, I have an idea."

"That...That is surely not necessary Your Grace!" Pycelle sputtered. "Lord Tywin is loyal! The Dornish...spiteful fools..they should be coming here to bend the knee! Not-"

"I thought I told you to SHUT IT!" Robert snapped. "Be silent, or I shall find myself a Grand Maester that will."

Wisely, Pycelle remained quiet.

"..Have your Birds keep an eye on the Dragonspawn….. I suppose we'll need to see if the damn Empress will be willing to reopen trade with us after the Mad King decided to insult the strongest nation in the world. Jon, pick your  _least_ irritating man to act as an envoy. Make sure they understand what's at stake."

"It will be done, Your Grace. However, it might be a better idea if I ventured there myself. Such an important, and delicate matter shouldn't be handled by an...amateur."

Robert sighed. "Damn it Jon. You're the Hand of the King! I need you here."

"Mayhaps Lord Tywin might wish to do so Your Grace? If you question his loyalty.." Pycelle made to interrupt, but Jon Arryn ignored him. "..Then what better way for him to prove it?"

A grin slowly formed on the King's face, his unspoken approval plain to see.

* * *

 

Varys almost chuckled as he made his way through the tunnels of the Red Keep. Robert was actually acting like a King damn well should. And all it had taken was the certainty of an unwinnable war to convince him that focusing on the Targaryen's was a  _fucking_ foolish idea.

Perhaps it was time to write to his old friends, and see what the feeling was in Essos. His Braavosi agents should also be told to move to Daemonholt too. Darry had failed, that was clear. He had put  _far_ too much trust in the old Master-At-Arms.

The Spider sighed. Control would need to be regained and maintained. Then all would be well.

* * *

 

**In answer to Patriot-112's question, the closest I could find to an Armour base was:**

**krstovukoje/art/Byzantine-infantry-348114194**

**Of course, they'd were there native/regional colours, but a Byzantine-esque style of armour is what I have in my mind when I write them.**

**Some of you might question why Robert doesn't up and jump to attack the Imperium. He** _**isn't** _ **a fool. Lazy and hot headed at times, true. But I can't see that he would willingly kick off a large scale conflict so soon after his rebellion against a nation that doesn't have a division in loyalty whilst the loyalties of his own Lords are in question. Right now, the Blackfyre's are (technically, not personally) politically neutral with the Baratheon royal line, and making an enemy of a nation that could hold its own against Westeros with ease is** _**not** _ **a clever move for a new King to make.**

**Anywho, up next should be Tywin's diplomatic mission to Daemonholt, then I can hopefully wrap up the prologue up. Again, if you have opinions or ideas, I'd love to hear them.**


	6. 283 A.C PART 5

_**Late 283 A.C, Port of Daemonholt** _

Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West, was not happy. His  _removal_ of the Targaryen children should have meant that he could reclaim his rightful place as Hand of the King. It should have earned him the unadulterated trust of the new King. Instead, he had been sent off to negotiate the renewal of trade rights with the Imperium. He had allowed his brother, Gerion, to accompany him. Though the pair did not get on, Tywin acknowledged that the younger man was a masterful sailor, almost a rival of those Ironborn savages. Anyone that could navigate the mess of Imperial shipping lanes would be a boon on this expedition. Amory Lorch was also with him. Tywin regarded him as little more than an unsubtle thug, but he was good at following orders, regardless of brutality...and the likelihood of the Empress not knowing of Lorch's actions was next to none, since the fool had loudly, and proudly, boasted of how he butchered the 'little dragon bitch'.

If necessary, he would let the dragons have him if they tried to block their leave.

They had stopped at the City of Lys on the way. The city was ruled over by House Greystone, the family of the Empress' father. Descended from Gareth the Grey, a Knight and companion of Daemon the Liberator (and famed for his grayscale scars), the House was, aside from the Bittersteel's, perhaps the most steadfastly loyal to their Blackfyre overlords. Their loyalty was even reflected in their words,:  _Eternal is our Oath._ Their sigil depicted a silver sword on a pale grey field. It had only been twenty-three years since the Bold Dragon had granted Lys to the Greystone's, but they had served the Blackfyre line since Daemon Blackfyre's youth. Gareth the Grey had been a childhood friend of the future Liberator, and the Greystone family had produced a number of notable commanders and admirals for the Empire they helped build.

Now though, the pleasant sun and breeze of Lys was gone, replaced by the odd mix of smells and sounds of what amounted to the capital of Essos. Nymeria's Palace loomed tall in the distance. Despite himself, Tywin admitted to being impressed by the sight of the Blackfyre seat. Its spires and domes and courtyards. The banners, guards and finery. The servants scurrying about to keep the massive palace going. Perhaps he could take some of what he was seeing and apply it to the Rock..

The dockworkers were efficient, quiet and polite, if a tad obvious in their distrust. Tywin did not mind. It ment that they did not bother him more than they needed to. Their common was surprisingly good, if heavily accented. It was sadly..odd..to witness such efficiency.

"Lord Tywin!" A man with a greying red beard that came down just below his shoulders called out as he approached the dock. The Old Lion mused that all of the man's hair must have been in that beard, as he was bald as a babe. "Blue Tessarion was clearly generous with you, it seems. On behalf of her Majesty, our beloved Empress, Visenya Blackfyre, I welcome you to the Essosi Imperium."

Tywin cast his gaze over the man. He wore dark red armour, with the black dragon printed upon it, He also wore a blood red cloak that came down passed his knees. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, whilst the offer hand remained free. "You have me at a distinct disadvantage, Ser. You know me, I do not know you."

"Ah! I am Robert Reyne." The man smiled broadly. "Member of the Drakeshield. And a Reyne of Norvos."

 _The Reynes of Norvos._ Tywin mused.  _Red Lion with its tail wrapped around a longax on a silver field. Does this Empress wish me scared?_

"Am I entirely safe with you, Reyne?" The Lord of Casterly Rock asked aloud, standing dignified, and pointedly resting a hand on his sword's hilt. "Let us not pretend that you have no dislike of me."

"Bah." Robert gave a dismissive wave. "True, the deaths of our Castamere cousins did cause us great upset, but we have little pity for them. Disobeying one's liege is unforgivable, when the request given to them is...reasonable. Fret not. Whilst our claws are, as your song goes 'long and sharp' _,_ unless you yourself prove a threat to the Empress or her family, we will have no quarrel. In addition, and to put you at more ease, my fellow Drakeshield, Tazal, will be joining us."

As if on cue, a lone figure stalked into view, wearing similarly dark armour with blood red cloak, just like Robert Reyne. He came to a halt when he reached the group. He looked about the Westerosi emotionlessly, merely inclining his head a fraction. Gerion kept a grin plastered widely on his face. If he was right, Tazal was equal in height to the Clegane ogre his brother was fond of, but far more lean, and deathly quiet. Bald, with scars littering his face. In his hands was a spear with a wicked looking spearhead on one end, and a heavy looking weight on the other. His skin was dark, denoting his Summer Islander heritage. "Tall bugger, isn't he?"

Robert let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh aye! Tazal the Tall we call him. Used to be a slave 'till he caved in his masters skull and fled to our Empire. Replaced old Rollam Blackflowers when the man lost his arm to a Dothraki."

Tazal merely grunted in response, and raised an arm, pointing towards the palace.

Robert grinned. "Looks like we ought to get moving My Lord. Nymeria's Palace awaits!"

The Drakeshield turned on his heel, and started to head towards the Palace. Tazal took up his place at the back of the group. Whilst it as a little disconcerting, Tywin did not voice his concern. These Drakeshield were colleagues of Baelor Bittersteel, and  _his_  fighting skill was well known even in Westeros. Whilst his own forces outnumbered the pair by a large margin, they were in the heart of the Imperium now, far from home and 'safe' harbour. It was easier to endure the..indignity, than risk everything. Perhaps it would even reflect well on him.

When they passed the market, Gerion's attention turned to a figure in red on a small box in the central square, his voice carrying enough for the group to hear.

"We are ruled by heathens!" The man in red boomed. "The Lord of Light's true word is blighted by the cursed words of dragons! Rise, my children! Rise against this foul blasphemy, and embrace the one, true God!"

Gerion grinned. "Trouble?"

"Nay, we've been having trouble with some followers of Rh'llor, First Servant of the Gods." Robert shrugged dismissively. "They are a nuisance, but of no great concern. Our sworn brother Thoros has managed to quell the violence. Freedom of religion is..law. If they prove willing to abuse that law however..."

"Well…"He paused, and shot the Lannister brothers thin smile. "You recall how Maegor dealt with the Faith Militant, yes?"

A subtle look of approval crossed Tywin's face. Whilst it had been many years since he had last stepped foot in a Sept (when Johanna lay dying), he was aware of the power that faith held. "Indeed."

"Thank Eternal Syrax for that!" Robert exclaimed cheerfully. "I must admit my knowledge of Westerosi history is...lacking. I know basic details, but that is about you'd be so kind as to enlighten me as we walk to the Palace?"

* * *

**_Se Izula Ampā_  mentioned so far:**

**Mighty Vermithor: God of Conquest, War and Victory. Patron God of the Empire**

**Kind Meraxes: God of Death and the Afterlife**

**Wise Terrax: God of Travel, Travellers and Refugees**

**Blue Tessarion: God of Sea, Sky and Wind**

**Eternal Syrax: God of the Night/Day cycle and History**

**Vhagar: God of Children, Parenthood, Family (and Love)**

* * *

**Hello! It's been some time, I know. I apologise for that, it's been a rough few months on my end. This is actually only half of this chapter, as it was starting to run on a little too much.**

**Up next is Tywin and the Empress' meeting (and Gerion has a meeting too!). That should be the last of the prologue arc, and then we can move onto the first arc in the actual time period of Game of Thrones.**

**As always, please read and review, and I hope you all have a happy *insert holiday name here***


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